Demonic Four-Year-Olds and Fighting Back the Mommy-Love Serum

I will be reluctant to send a link to this new post to my mother as I can already hear her say in a friendly sing-song way, “I remember a little girl who…” Yes, I remember that little girl as well. She sits here, typing this blog, all grown up now. My mother would continue, “…and every day at four o’clock she would throw herself down in the hall, kicking and screaming, and saying that nobody loves her.”

What’s remarkable is that twenty-eight years later, whenever my mother speaks those words, these short yet amazingly vivid flashes of memory surface from the inner-most depth of my childhood memory: the ceiling, my back on the floor, the heat from my blood rushing to the surface of my skin, tears streaming down the sides of my face and disappearing into my damp hairline, the need to be coddled and nourished, and the need to be cleansed of my demons.

My reaction is usually to roll my eyes and say, “Yes, I know…”, cutting her off before she goes any further. I’m sure hours of expensive therapy could be had to bring about those memories for me to meditate on and begin to heal. Yes, I’m being sarcastic; not because I don’t believe in the power of good therapy, but I also believe that memories such as this are a normal and necessary part of life. Afterall, they assist my heart in fully breaking apart whenever I hear my own four-year-old in a fit of rage utter the very words I recall myself saying in those flashes of memory. “No..ho..boah…deee LOVES meeeeeee in my fam…eh…leeee!”

Ah…ah…ah…

my heart cracking open

leaking mommy-love serum into my soul

It hurts. It makes me want to grab her up, kiss her all over her chubby little cheeks, and say, “I know. I know just how you feel.” At this point I would be crying with her. “I do love you. We all do. You’re the best, most greatest kid in the whole world!” We would then give each other a big hug and cry together, wrapped up in our Lifetime-movie display of emotion.

ERRRTTT…

STOP!

Really now! The Lifetime Movie Channel may have fooled us into thinking that life should work just as this: everyone gets a big hug, everything is okay, and the credits can roll. However, this is reality. Every good parent knows that in actuality, the worst thing we can do to a child in a fit of rage is to coddle them, no matter how hard it can be for that parent not to do so. I’m no parenting expert, but I believe that the first step is to calm the child then have a peaceful discussion – free from drama – to go over actions, feelings, expectations, and prayers for the future. If we gave into the motherly instinct to instantly coddle and make them feel better, then wouldn’t that teach the child that it is socially acceptable to act like a total overly emotional freak-a-zoid whenever something doesn’t go their way? Could you imagine? We would totally damage them for the future because we would distort their understanding to be that their own emotions should dominate everyone elses. The sad part is that we probably wouldn’t realize this until it is too late and at midnight twenty-five years later we hear a knock at our door and open it to them standing on our doorstep with a suitcase in hand.

So, back to yesterday – back to one of the total of five fits we had. There was me, trying to remain calm as I carry a heavy kicking and screaming four-year-old up a flight of stairs, bracing myself not to fall. As I lay her on her bed, trying to fight back my own frustration and anger, she says it again, “NOBODY LOVES ME.” Then she adds in, “YOU DON’T WANT ME. YOU JUST WANT ME TO GO AWAY!”

“I do love you Annie. I love you so much that I can’t let you act this way.” I breath deeply and leave the room – her screams fading slightly behind the door as I pull it shut. I recall my own memory, my own feelings, but in the peace of my own room. I collect myself from my own emotions and continue my day downstairs. Usually Annie continues to scream for a few minutes. If she is anything like I was at that age, she is hoping the door will fly open with a Mommy running to her with open arms, telling her it is okay to behave in such a way, that it is perfectly acceptable to hit her sister, crumple my sewing patterns and laugh about it, or push her baby sister down. I don’t come. She calms down. She is quiet for a few more minutes. Then from downstairs I hear her little quiet calm voice call from the top of the stairs. “Can I come down and be with my family now?”

I walk to the bottom of the stairs, looking up at her sweet face that speaks every bit how truly sorry she really is. I walk up to meet her as we sit at the top of the stairs together. I give her a tight hug and a kiss on her cheek. “I love you so much, Annie. I’m really glad you feel better now. I would really like for you to come down and be with your family. We miss you when you get upset and have to go to your room.”

She always laughs sweetly and in a ‘yep I really acted like a mad woman’ kind of way. I laugh with her, explain briefly how it’s okay to get upset, but how we react to our emotions is what gets us into trouble. As we go back downstairs and continue our day I think about my own mother, how she must have felt when I was so little, so long ago, laying on the floor screaming insanely as I flung my tiny body all over the floor in what must have looked like a self-induced seizure.

You know, on second thought, I will send notice of this new post to my mother before anyone else. I will also take the time to say here:

Thank you, mom!

Thank you for teaching me that my emotions don’t rule the world.

Thank you for teaching me what tough love means and how important it is.

Thank you for helping me to grow up to be a fine mother.

Thank you for fighting back your own mommy-love serum pouring into your soul when I acted like a four-year-old madwoman.

Thank you for enabling me emotionally to handle myself. Thank you because I’ve never had to show up on your doorstep to be coddled after a fight with my husband. Thank you because I know how to handle those emotions on my own.

Thank you in advance for what you did back then – mistakes, triumphs, and all – that now helps me to raise my own daughters.

♥

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Coming from experience, I’ll second everything in this essay (which just flows along with such heart, I feel like I’m there). Ladies who learn to tough it out and keep going are great leaders in their families, in the workplace, in their churches, in the community. I’m convinced that society is better when great women (like the writer of this blog, though I’m a little partial) stand their ground and do the right thing because it makes everyone around them better people. That is the job that God gave to us.